Remember
by Rosibo
Summary: SPOILERS for 7x10 Daryl finds Carol at the creeptastic house after escaping from the Sanctuary.
1. Chapter 1

WARNING: Possible spoilers for 7x10 (but more speculation!)

 **REMEMBER**

"Daryl?"

She felt her eyes blow wide and her breath catch in her chest, as she took in the so very familiar face of the man stood before her. Her initial shock was short-lived, however, as her brain caught up; her eyes raked over him, taking in his dishevelled state.

He looked more than tired; he looked like he hadn't slept in days, maybe weeks. He was cleaner than usual, freshly showered even. But his eyes were puffy and bruised, his lip slightly swollen, and his cheek grazed and scabbed over. He held his arm awkwardly to his chest, suspended in a makeshift sling. His shoulders were sagged, where they normally stood prominent and wide, and the gauntness in his cheeks told her that he'd lost weight. The unfamiliar clothes he wore, a dark grey zip-up hoody and black sweat pants, hung loosely from him.

"Daryl, what happened?"

When he remained silent, she forced herself to stop scanning him, and looked up to meet his eyes. In them, she found a mixture of exhaustion and despair; a dimness, a hopelessness that had seemingly switched off the lights inside.

"Hey, what happened?" she tried again, opening the door fully and stepping into his space, "Tell me."

His mouth fell open just barely, as if he was about to say something. She caught the way his lower lip trembled slightly, his jaw tensing and moving almost imperceptibly; it was a nervous tick of his that she'd come to know well. But then he said nothing as he released a frustrated sigh.

She lifted her hand to rest on his cheek, noticing his slight flinch, and realising it was the first time he'd had such a reaction to her touch since back at Hershel's farm. But she would not be deterred, and as her palm moulded into the curve of his cheek, it broke the dam.

Without warning, his face crumpled, and he let his head fall forward to her shoulder as he burrowed into her collar bone. She pulled him closer to her, one arm snaking around his torso and the other coming up around his neck, hand holding the back of his head as his shoulders heaved with his sobs.

She felt the tears welling in her own eyes, heartbroken as she was by the way he clutched at her back with his good arm. It was like a lifetime's worth of unshed tears, unshared pain, was pouring out of him right now, and she was at a loss to know what had triggered it.

As far as she knew, when she'd left Alexandria he had been alright, at least physically. She was determined to find out what she'd missed; to find out who'd hurt him. They'd already signed their death warrant.

* * *

He felt himself sag as his tears finally started to dry up. She'd held him in that doorway for God knew how long, her fingers tangling in his hair, softly hushing him as he'd completely broken down into a pile of whimpering mush.

He lifted his head from her shoulder, eyes puffy and unfocused, though he could still make out the wet patch that his tears had branded into her shirt.

"M'sorry," he mumbled, voice hoarse and quiet.

"Don't be," she whispered, her soft hands coming up to wipe the tear tracks from his cheeks with her thumbs, as her palms warmed his jawline.

Her eyes seemed to search his for a few seconds, and not for the first time, he found himself enraptured by their soft, azure glow.

"Come on," she muttered with a concerned frown.

He felt bereft for a moment when her hands slid down from his face, but he quickly got over it when he felt her smaller palm slide against his free hand, and her fingers intertwine themselves with his. He took her hand willingly, following as she turned to pull him into the house.

She led him to the kitchen table, pulling out a chair and gesturing for him to sit. He didn't argue; in fact, he was grateful as the exhaustion in his leg muscles threatened to drop him on his ass at any moment.

With a gentle squeeze of his hand, the coolness of her palm was once again retracted, and he found himself staring at his fingers where he rested his hand palm-upwards on the table top in front of him.

"Here," she said from beside him, and he looked up to see the proffered water bottle, "drink."

He did, finishing the entire container without stopping for breath, thanking her softly as she took the empty bottle away. He went back to staring at his hand, not realising she'd taken a seat beside him until the pale skin of hers appeared on top of his own again, her palm flat against his. He looked up to meet her concerned gaze.

"Nice place," he mumbled, trying to distract her from the questions he knew would come soon enough, as he gestured with his head at the room they sat in.

"It's ok," she agreed, and he could tell she was humouring him for the time being, sensing he wasn't ready to talk just yet; she'd always known how to react to him, so perceptive to his needs.

"You happy here?" he asked, not quite sure he wanted to know the answer.

She seemed to consider that for a second, her brow furrowing.

"I don't know," she answered honestly, and Daryl's eyes dropped away from hers as he readied himself to broach the subject he really wanted the details of.

"Why'd you leave?" he asked quietly, not meeting her eyes.

"Daryl," she said, almost sadly.

"Just tell me," he interrupted, gaze meeting hers fiercely. "Don't say I ain't gonna understand. Just try me."

"I had to," she said, sadly.

"Why?"

"Because I couldn't do it anymore," she explained, eyes haunted and defeated.

"Couldn't do what?" he frowned.

"Keep killing. So many people…" she trailed off, this time allowing her gaze to fall on their still-joined hands as she paused, before slowly continuing "I killed so many, Daryl. Karen and David. And Lizzie…"

"Stop," he shook his head, ready to argue that though she might feel like Lizzie's death was her fault, it couldn't be. But she interrupted him.

"I killed her Daryl," she said stoically, silencing his protestations, "I shot her in the back of the head."

Carol's free hand lifted, pointing to the back of her own skull. He took a moment to mull that over.

"If you did, then you did it 'cause you had to. You did it 'cause you had no other choice," he said with unwavering certainty.

"You don't even know why I did it," Carol challenged, though there was no confrontation in her tone, just defeat and sadness.

"But I know you," he answered without missing a beat, "You do everything you can to protect your family. You always have. If you killed her, it's 'cause you had to."

"But that's the problem," she said, shaking her head sadly, "I _would_ do anything to protect you. And all of them. But I _can't_ anymore. I can't fight anymore, Daryl. I can't keep ending lives to save others."

Daryl turned it over in his mind. He understood what she was saying, but he couldn't bring himself to agree. He knew he'd kill a thousand people without remorse to keep _her_ safe.

"Then you don't have to," he tried, "I'd do it for you. You don't gotta kill nobody."

"You know that's not how it works," she countered, and damn it, he knew she was right.

They fell into a temporary, thoughtful silence. It hurt him, more than he cared to acknowledge, to know that she felt so lost right now; that she'd lost her way so badly, that she felt being away from those she loved was better than staying and risking the necessity of protecting them. But he also knew he held the key to changing her mind.

Somehow, he knew that to tell her about Negan, about the saviours, about…Glenn; if she just knew what had happened in her absence, she'd be down to the Sanctuary in a heartbeat. And she'd be dead on the cold, hard floor a minute later.

And she'd probably hate _him_ too. Just like they all must do now…Rick, Maggie for certain. No, come on, now was not the time to continue that self-torture. There'd be enough of that from his family when he finally made it back to Alexandria. Could he even call them family anymore, after what he'd done? Carol would find out soon enough, too. He'd tell her himself, even, knowing that her disappointment in him would both destroy him, and be totally justified.

Maybe after all this was over, he'd have to leave them. He doubted they'd even want him in the same community; Maggie would never be able to look at him the same, that's for sure.

But that didn't matter right now. He'd make it back there, regardless of their hatred of him. He'd help overthrow Negan. He'd do his part to try and fix the hellhole they'd been thrown into…for Glenn. And then he'd disappear.

"Daryl, what happened to you? Why are you dressed like that?" she asked softly, breaking the silence that had befallen them.

He swallowed thickly, buying himself some time as his brain fabricated a lie. He had to think of something, to keep her here, where she was safe. She couldn't know the truth; not yet.

"Some guys, out on the road," he answered carefully, "Beat my ass and took my stuff."

"Was it Negan's group?" she asked, the concern showing clearly in her features, "How'd you end up here?"

"Naw, not Negan's group. Ain't heard nothin' from them in a while," he felt sick inside as he lied to her, but reminded himself that he was doing it _for_ her, and found the will to continue, "Ezekiel's guys found me. Patched me up. Then I found Morgan at the Kingdom. Told me where to find you."

She didn't look wholly convinced, as she squinted at him with scrutiny. After a moment, she seemed to have made the decision to let it go, to give him the benefit of the doubt, and her gaze softened again.

"Are you going back to Alexandria?" she asked, clearly trying to keep emotion out of her tone.

He nodded reluctantly.

"Have to. They don't know where I am, they'll be looking for me," he lied again.

Her guard slipped momentarily, as her face visibly fell.

"Maybe I can stay for a while, though," he suggested, suddenly nervous, "Been a while since I had any good food."

"Why, Daryl Dixon, are you trying to tell me there's nobody at Alexandria cooks as well as I do?" she teased lightly, and he was grateful for the change in tone.

"Hell, you know it," he affirmed, allowing a slight smirk to cross his features.

She snorted, standing up abruptly and heading toward the kitchen countertop.

"Well, just so happens that I cooked up a killer rabbit stew yesterday, with enough left over to feed a family for a week," she told him, smiling at him over her shoulder.

The easiness of it had him returning her smile. They were both playing a game, right now, and they both knew it. But it was a welcome respite from the torment they'd clearly both been suffering, and Daryl could almost pretend they were back at the prison, when things had been so easy between them. Back before everything turned to shit.

* * *

They ate in comfortable silence, Carol watching Daryl out of the corner of her eye as he practically inhaled his stew.

She knew he was keeping something from her. His reaction when he'd arrived on her doorstep; the way he'd broken down, there was clearly more to his story than he'd let on. But she knew that he was a stubborn man, and if he didn't want to talk, he wasn't going to. To press the subject would be to push him away, and that's the last thing she wanted right now.

Truth was, she'd missed them all terribly. And none more than Daryl Dixon. Having him here, safe with her, almost made her regret her decision to leave. But then, the fierce protectiveness she felt at seeing him so beat up, was a confirmation that she'd done the right thing; if she ever came across the people who'd hurt him, they'd be skinned alive without a second thought, for laying a finger on him.

The thought of him going back to Alexandria sent daggers through her gut. And while part of her had decided it was the right thing for him to do, there was another part that was so glad he'd found her, because she knew that he'd keep coming back. And she wouldn't run. She couldn't. As much as she needed the distance between them, her sanity required the knowledge that he was alive and well.

When he'd drained the last drops of broth from his bowl, he looked up at her sheepishly, a redness spreading over his cheeks in response to her knowing smirk.

"That good, huh?" she asked.

"Better," he replied, that half smile making a welcome return.

Their eyes met, and they held each other's gaze, just for a moment.

"You're leaving," she spoke softly, sadly, as she watched the conflict dance across his face.

He nodded.

"S'getting dark," he replied, equally sadly, "Wanna get back while I still got the light."

She looked down at the table, swallowing back the sadness that threatened to pour over.

"Will you come back?" she asked, resenting the neediness that came across in her tone.

She watched a myriad of emotions flash in his eyes, so fast that she struggled to read them in time, before they were gone.

"Soon as I can," he promised, though it seemed empty to her, somehow.

She smiled gently, and he returned it, before wincing as he got to his feet, swaying slightly.

"Take my horse," Carol offered, standing up beside him, arms out as if ready to catch him should he topple over.

She could tell he wanted to decline, but he didn't argue with her; he really must have been as exhausted as he looked.

She led him outside to the back of the house, where the brown mare stood in the shed-like structure, munching lazily on a hay bale. They led her around to the front gates of the house, Daryl stroking her nose tenderly as Carol grappled with the lock on the main gates. As they swung open, she turned to her companion, finding him staring at her with an unreadable expression.

They stood in silence for a moment, neither wanting to speed up the inevitable parting.

"Stay safe," he muttered, emotion dripping in his voice.

"Nine lives, remember?" she whispered back, realising how long it'd been since they'd used that gentle exchange of words.

He nodded gently, chewing on his sore lip. He then surprised her, abruptly stepping forward into her, and wrapping his arm around her shoulders, pulling her in to his chest.

Her arms, of their own accord, wound their way around his waist, her eyes falling shut as she pressed her face into the side of his neck, her lips resting against the curve of his collar-bone. She could feel his heart beating against his chest, and knew hers was matching its rhythm. And the warmth he radiated through her made her never want to let go.

But eventually, she felt his arm fall away, sliding down her back and only breaking contact at the very last moment. She stepped back, looking down at the ground, unable to meet his eyes.

Until she felt his thumb on her chin, his index finger curled under, as he tilted her face up to look at him. He looked nervous, his lip doing its usual wobble, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly.

And then he leaned forward, his lips coming to rest on her forehead, and her eyes drifted shut as she felt his breath fan over her hair. He lingered for a moment, and then he was gone, turning his back on her and throwing himself clumsily into the saddle. And then he was out the gates, without looking back.

She watched him go, unshed tears in her eyes, until he was out of sight.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Ok, so I've decided to turn this one shot into a multi chapter fic, probably around 4-5 chapters long.**

 **Spoilers for the comic book "all out war" arc, which I've unashamedly taken the plot for, changed up some characters, taken out the boring bits and given it some Caryl goodness.**

 **So, please enjoy! And let me know what you think?**

 **Chapter 2**

When Daryl arrived back at the Kingdom, after leaving Carol at the little house just a few miles away, he practically fell from the horse. His physical fatigue melded with his mental and emotional exhaustion, and he found that all he wanted to do was sleep. Maybe for a week. He returned Carol's horse to the stables, silently thanking the mare for getting him back without his input, because his mind had certainly been elsewhere for most the journey; namely, back with _her._

It had taken every ounce of strength in him to step back, climb up into the saddle, and ride away from her. He'd almost turned back a few times, the memory of her warm smile and her even warmer embrace was burned into his nerve endings. But it was for the best. The longer he stayed there, the more chance there was of putting her in danger. After all, thanks to Dwight, Negan should hopefully believe that Daryl had been killed by now. He just prayed that the crossbow-stealing, vest-thieving little prick really had changed his allegiance; everything depended on it. As much as Daryl hated to admit it, Dwight was now possibly the single most important piece of the puzzle, if they were to stand a chance against Negan.

He headed back towards the room he'd stayed in the past few nights before he'd found out Carol was nearby, and audibly groaned when he heard his name called from a little way behind him. The fact that he recognised the voice didn't compute until he turned, and his eyes fell upon the source.

He couldn't speak. Couldn't react. It was Rick. And that prick from the Hilltop, Jesus, or whatever he called himself. They were stood with Ezekiel and Morgan outside the theatre auditorium, the King's faithful tiger at his side looking distrustful of the unfamiliar people.

Daryl made no move to answer or approach. How could he? What could he say? _I'm sorry I got our brother killed. I'm sorry I couldn't fight back when Negan took me? I understand why you hate me?_ None of it seemed enough.

But then Rick broke the awkward silence, approaching Daryl with unshed tears in his eyes. He couldn't help but flinch as Rick stepped into his space, raising his good arm in defence. But Rick ignored it, his arm coming up around Daryl's back as he pulled him into a tight hug, his fist clutching at the loose material on the back of Daryl's hoody.

Daryl stood stock still, unable to return the embrace. Unable to compute what was happening, and why Rick wasn't punching him in the jaw. When Rick stepped back, his hand remained on Daryl's good shoulder, holding him at arm's length, and Daryl found his gaze dropping to his shoes as Rick's eyes seemed to burn holes through his forehead.

"I'm so sorry," Rick muttered, and Daryl's eyes snapped up in confusion, unsure he'd heard him right.

Rick seemed to understand Daryl's confusion, as his hand squeezed tighter, and he shook his head.

"Hey, man, it wasn't your fault. You know that, right?" Rick said gently.

Daryl's eyes dropped down again, and even as Rick repeated his point, he couldn't find it in himself to acknowledge it.

He seemed to realise that Daryl wasn't ready for that conversation yet, so he moved on quickly.

"How did you get away?" Rick asked.

"Dwight," Daryl explained, "Says he's had enough of livin' under Negan's rules. He's got a wife there. Negan don't let him see her."

"So he let you go?" Rick asked.

Daryl nodded, still not looking up to meet his friend's eyes.

"Helped me escape. Set up this other guy to take the blame for it, while I hid. Negan sent him out after me to bring me back, but he brought me here instead. Said he was gonna tell Negan he found me dead."

"Dwight's on our side, now," Ezekiel interrupted, approaching the men with Shiva and Morgan at his side, "We had a lengthy discussion, and I believe we have come to an agreement."

"You trust him?" Rick asked, somewhat incredulously.

"He brought us Daryl. He told me of his wife, and of Negan's control of she and many other women in his group," the King explained, "and while I may not yet trust him implicitly, I do believe he is our best…perhaps our only chance, at overthrowing Negan."

Daryl watched as Rick's jaw tensed, a tell-tale sign that he was giving Ezekiel's words some deep thought. He abruptly turned to Daryl.

"What do you think?" he asked gently, "Can we trust him?"

Daryl wasn't quite sure how to answer that. He wasn't sure he trusted his own judgement any more. But Rick wanted his opinion, so he'd give it.

"He got me out of there. Ain't a smart thing to do unless you got a real good reason."

"What if it's a set-up?" Morgan asked. "What if Negan told him to act like he's changed sides?"

They all paused to consider it.

"It's possible," Rick agreed, but his eyes looked haunted when his gaze fell back upon Daryl, "but he's our only chance. Negan has to pay."

Despite his exhaustion, Daryl was restless that night, just like every other. It seemed like every time he fell asleep, his brain flooded his dreams with memories of baseball bats and dog food sandwiches, and that god-awful song they'd tormented him with for weeks. But worst of all, he was haunted by the memory of Maggie on her knees in that clearing, and the sounds she'd made as she'd lost the man she loved.

He was dreading the following day. They'd decided that it'd be too dangerous to take Daryl back to Alexandria; Negan's men were watching the place closely, and he was meant to be dead, after all. Rick would go back to Alexandria, and prepare for war, while Daryl and Jesus returned to the Hilltop. Which meant he'd be seeing Maggie. He wasn't sure he could cope when she inevitably shunned him. But then he'd have to deal with it, because whatever her reaction to his return, he knew it was wholly justified. He would take whatever verbal or physical reaction she might have.

* * *

Morning came too quickly, and before he could really make sense of what was happening, he'd parted ways with Rick, Morgan and Ezekiel, and was curled up in the boot of a small estate car, with Jesus at the wheel, heading to the Hilltop. The boot was cramped and damp, and his shoulder ached terribly, still swollen and painful after Negan had dislocated it a few days prior. Each bump of the car jolted him harshly, making every bruise, every cut on his body, feel fresh and brand new. But he couldn't sit in the main cab; if any saviours spotted him, the whole thing could be blown. Still, he had one thought that brought him comfort: Carol was safe. Morgan had promised to keep her in the dark about the coming war, to keep her out of it. It seemed the other man was just as keen to keep her safe as Daryl was; he wasn't sure if he should feel jealousy at that.

When the car rolled to a stop, his relief at arriving at the Hilltop undetected was short-lived, when he awkwardly crawled from his hiding space, and was hurriedly rushed towards the manor house at the centre of the grounds.

"Christ, man, what's the rush?" he grunted irately, shrugging Jesus off from where he clasped his forearm and dragged him forward.

"Our guys outside the walls saw some of Negan's group heading our way. It's not collection day for another two days; it can't be good news if they're coming early," Jesus hurriedly explained, "We have to get you and Maggie out of sight."

Fear gripped him then, at the thought of being discovered by Negan this quickly; he wasn't sure he could survive any more time in that place. He'd well and truly reached breaking point, both mentally and physically.

He allowed Jesus to herd him into the house, up the stairs and down one of the long hallways to a back bedroom. He was practically pushed through a doorway off the room, into what could only be described as a large broom closet, unfurnished and lit only by a dim, bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. At the same second he stepped through the door, it was closed behind him, and the following scraping sounds could only mean that some large piece of furniture, probably a wardrobe, was being slid over to hide the door.

But all those details only registered in the back of his mind, when his eyes fell upon someone's small, curled over form, sat against the back wall with her knees tucked up to her chest. Maggie's eyes widened when they landed on him, and he stood, stock still above her, too terrified to move. He waited silently, his breathing shallow and eyes blinking rapidly in the dim lighting, waiting for her reaction to his presence.

His eyes automatically scrunched closed tightly when she silently pushed herself to her feet, and he braced for whatever onslaught he was about to face.

When he felt her arms close in around him, her head falling to his shoulder as she clung to him, his eyes snapped back open and he breathed in sharply.

She seemed to notice his confused immobility, because she pulled back quickly, taking his face in her hands.

"You're ok," she breathed, and he found it hard to believe that he was hearing relief in her tone. Her voice was thick with tears, but he couldn't look into her eyes to confirm their presence.

"Daryl, look at me," she whispered.

He couldn't. He couldn't speak. He could barely breathe; he could feel his whole body shaking and his laboured breaths trembling.

"Please," she begged, and how could he deny her, after everything?

As his gaze met hers, he felt the grief pour out of him.

"I'm sorry," he breathed as his head dropped forwards in defeat. He kept whispering it, over and over again, even as she pulled his head to her shoulder and held it there gently.

"It's not your fault," she cried quietly.

But it was. And not just Glenn, but Beth, even Hershel. Maggie had lost her entire family because of him. And yet she was stood there, not blaming him, comforting him even. But he couldn't argue. He could only stand, even as his legs threatened to buckle underneath him.

Maggie seemed to feel how unsteady he was, because she guided him down to their knees. She released him, and they each settled back against the wall beside one another, knees to chests, Daryl's good arm curling around his shins, and Maggie's hands absentmindedly caressing her baby bump.

They sat in silence for a long time, until Daryl could bear it no more.

"The baby ok?" he asked quickly, "I mean…" he trailed off. Because of course the baby wasn't "ok". It was fatherless, now, thanks to him.

"He's fine," she affirmed gently.

"He?" Daryl's eyes snapped up in wonder.

"Yeah," she smiled sadly, "It's a boy."

Daryl half-smiled, just for a moment, before remembering the truth of the situation once again, and his face fell.

"He'd a'been happy," Daryl mumbled, staring at the floor between his knees.

"Yeah, he would've," she whispered in reply.

Silence fell again briefly, and he could feel her eyes on him, though he dared not look up.

"I meant it, you know," she told him, clearly trying to hold back the emotion from her voice, to keep her composure, "it wasn't your fault. He wouldn't have blamed you. _I_ don't."

"Should'a controlled myself," he mumbled, "was so fuckin' stupid. I didn't know he'd…"

"I know."

"I thought he'd kill me, not…him," he explained, noticing how desperate he sounded.

" _Negan_ killed him, Daryl," she said, and suddenly he heard a confidence there, a strength he could only admire, "It was Negan. Negan killed Abraham. Negan killed Glenn. It's not on you. And we will beat him."

He wasn't sure he could accept that, but the relief he felt at her abjuration of his guilt was staggering. And her strength even more so. After everything, after all that time with Glenn, for it to end like that, and yet she was still here fighting. Ready to take arms, and risk everything to do what was right. It was amazing to him; he wasn't sure he could carry on if he lost…anyone else.

"Would you do it all again?" he asked nervously, not quite sure that he was getting his question across properly, "With Glenn, I mean. Knowing it could all end like that. That quick."

She seemed to understand, and she smiled at him sadly.

"In a heartbeat," she answered, no doubt in her tone.

He nodded slightly, eyes falling back to his knees as he worried his lower lip with his teeth.

"Maybe even more so," she continued, and he lifted his gaze to watch her, as she stared absently at the wall in front of her, "It would've been easy to keep our distance from each other. Maybe it would hurt less now, if we had. But what we had, because we made that step, because we took the risk…I'll never regret that."

She turned to face him then, eyes locking to his in earnest.

"It's worth it, Daryl," she told him with certainty, "you gotta take the good where it's given in this world. It's the only thing makes it worth living anymore."

He understood. They fell back into comfortable silence, and he found his mind drifting far away, to a little house just outside the Kingdom, while they waited for the all clear. Whatever Negan's men had come to the Hilltop for, it was apparent they weren't searching for Maggie or himself; maybe they'd gotten away with faking both their deaths. This plan could really work. In just a few days, Negan and those other assholes wouldn't know what hit them. And most importantly, Carol would be far away, safe in that house.

* * *

 _3 days later_

Ever since Daryl had ridden away on that horse, Carol had found it hard to concentrate on anything but him. Having him there, alone with her for the first time in so long, it had almost felt like old times. It had felt like coming home. There'd been so much distance between them lately; they'd both been guilty of pulling away, as they each navigated this new world at Alexandria in their own separate ways. She'd seen him struggling. But he must not have seen the same in her; after all, she'd hidden it well, underneath layers of false smiles, flowery blouses and never-ending casseroles. She'd hoped it had been obvious to him that it was all for show, but the way they'd diverged in these past weeks had been evidence to the contrary.

But her game was up. He'd come and found her, and now he knew what had really been going on with her. It had been a weight off, to tell him about the girls. She hadn't even realised how heavy the lie, the secret, had been weighing on her. She could finally be honest with him, and know that he'd understand.

But she still couldn't go back. After all, nothing had changed. That was the paradox of her feelings, right now: she wanted so desperately for him to stay with her, or to follow him when he left, but she was still terrified of both options. She yearned for his return, and dreaded it at the same time. Because she still couldn't kill. And she still would, for him.

So, no, nothing had changed. But holy hell, did she miss him even more now that she'd seen him than she had before.

She found herself thinking of him again, now, even as she did something as mindless as peeling potatoes. Until she heard horse hooves outside, announcing the arrival of a guest from the Kingdom.

She went to the front door, first peeking through the spyhole to check it was a familiar face; you could never be too careful these days. When she saw that it was Ezekiel climbing down from the saddle, Shiva beside him on her leash, she opened the door to greet him with a smirk.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" she asked as he approached, letting himself in through the tall gates.

"Can we go inside?" he asked in his true southern drawl, abandoning his false royal cadence as he always did when they were alone, "There's some things we need to discuss."

She noticed he was more serious than usual, lacking his standard animated tone. She nodded her consent, stepping aside to let the false king and his pet into what she'd reluctantly come to think of as home.

"What's going on?" she asked, as she followed him into the kitchen.

"There's a lot I need to tell you. Let's sit down," he suggested, and she reluctantly took a seat across from him at the kitchen table, frowning in scepticism.

Shiva curled up on the floor at his feet, and Carol watched as he appeared to steel himself.

"We are going to war tomorrow," he started bluntly, "the Kingdom, the Hilltop and Alexandria are joining forces."

"To war with who?" she asked, brow furrowing as the only possible answer came to her, "Negan's group? But I thought…Daryl said they hadn't been around for a while."

"Daryl lied to you," he said sadly, and she had to suppress the urge to stand up punch Ezekiel in the jaw for suggesting it, "to protect you, no doubt."

"What do you mean?" she asked irately, desperate for more information.

"Daryl was a hostage of Negan's before he came here," Ezekiel began, and Carol felt the air knocked out of her, "that's why he was in such a state. He'd been held captive for nineteen days. Since you arrived here, actually."

"What do you mean?" she asked, unable to hide the concern in her voice, "How?"

"I wasn't there, I don't know the full story. All I know, is that Negan's group ambushed a group from Alexandria on the road as they were travelling to the Hilltop. He killed two, and took Daryl hostage."

"Killed? Who did he kill?" she was bordering on panic now.

"I believe their names were Abraham and Glenn," Ezekiel stated, and she felt like the wind was knocked out of her.

"Glenn's dead?" her voice small. She felt the tears welling in her eyes.

"Yes," he affirmed, his eyes sad, "You were close?"

"We…" she started, but her voice broke, "we were family."

"I'm sorry, Carol," he told her gently, honestly.

Glenn was dead? And Abraham? Oh, God, no wonder Daryl had been so distraught the other day. She'd known something was wrong; she should've pushed it, got it out of him. And he'd been Negan's prisoner for nearly three weeks? The arm sling, the bruised face, the cuts, the hopelessness; what the hell had happened to him in that time?

"Why didn't he tell me?" she asked out loud, not really expecting an answer.

"He wants you safe. He asked us not to tell you about the fight tomorrow, but I believe we need all the strength we can muster. Negan's army is still bigger than our three communities combined, and Morgan told me of your…skills."

"He told you I'm a good killer," she assumed, stoically.

"No, he told us that you're a good fighter. That you'll do anything to protect the people you love. That you'll always stand up for what's right. We need people like that; like you."

She frowned at the familiar, yet distorted description of herself. She had all those qualities, but it had been a long time since she considered them a positive thing.

But then she pictured Daryl's face when he'd turned up at her gate four days ago. She visualised his injuries, the tear-stain he'd left on her shoulder. She remembered the feeling of his chest heaving against his sobs as he clung to her, desperately trying to convey the pain he was in, but trying to keep it secret at the same time. To protect _her._ He really would do anything for her; as she would for him. And for Glenn. Even Abraham.

Negan wouldn't get away with it.

"Will you help us?" Ezekiel asked her after what must have been at least minute of silent contemplation on her part.

"Tell me the plan."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** **So this is a bit rushed...basically my life is super hectic right now and I have very little time to breathe, never mind write. But I also really wanna get this written because it's so cathartic for me.**

 **So, sorry its short and rushed!**

Chapter 3

There was an anxious buzz around the Kingdom. Carol sat off to the side and watched as the men and women of the community decked themselves out in their signature armour and handed out knives and spears. She recognised a confidence in many of them, primarily those whom she assumed went out on runs often, or had dealt with Negan's men on a regular basis. But there were others whose apprehension was glaringly obvious. Ezekiel had urged anyone who felt able and willing to fight, to join them. After all, there was strength in numbers, and they needed every single body they had at their disposal to try and match Negan's numbers. But it was clear that many of these people had hardly set food outside their relatively safe boundaries, and she had to wonder what use they might be if it came down to hand-to-hand combat.

But then, she had been like them once. In fact, she had been lesser; she would never have volunteered to go into battle back at the beginning of the turn. She'd have hidden behind her timid housewife persona. It wouldn't have been an avoidance tactic, but that image of herself had been so ingrained within her back then, that she would never have thought herself even capable of fighting.

How far she'd come, she thought, as she looked down at her own armour-clad torso. She hadn't wanted to wear it, but Ezekiel had insisted, and she couldn't find the energy within herself to argue; she'd need to save all that for later. Plus, she supposed it might come in useful.

Ezekiel's right hand man, Richard, called for everyone to ready themselves to move out, and she pushed herself to her feet. They would walk to Alexandria today to meet with Rick's group, before heading to the Sanctuary after nightfall. It would take them most of the day to get there. It wasn't ideal; they'd be tired by the time they reached Alexandria, and they'd only have a few hours to recover before the shit hit the fan. But now was the time. They could delay no longer.

They were on the move before long. The people outnumbered the horses, so they each took turns riding and walking to try and stave off the fatigue, while some would ride ahead to scout the area.

The sun was starting to set by the time they reached Alexandria. As the familiar gates came into view, Carol felt a sudden nervousness at the thought of facing her family. She'd seen none of them, bar Daryl, since she'd left weeks ago. She wasn't sure how her presence would be received. But worst of all, the thought of stepping through those gates, knowing that two of them who had been here when she left, were no longer there, made her sick to her stomach. She'd never again see Glenn and Maggie curled up together in the wooden bench on their porch. She'd never look up and see Abraham at the viewpoint by the wall, cigar hanging from his lips, winking as she passed.

She was so sick of it; sick of losing people. It was only getting harder. She was starkly reminded, once again, of why she left in the first place.

The gates opened before they even reached them, and her eyes fell upon Rick as he stood stoically to meet them, Jesus and Michonne at his side. His eyes scanned the troupe, before landing on her and widening. He didn't move, but when Michonne caught sight of her, the younger woman wasted no time in heading straight for her, catching her in a tight embrace.

"Welcome back," Michonne whispered as she pulled away, and Carol could only smile gently.

Rick stood aside to let the group in, and they began to file through the gates. Carol walked beside Michonne back to Rick, whose eyes were filled with some strange mixture of relief and sadness. When she came to stand before him, he lifted his hand to rest on her shoulder, and she returned the gesture with her opposite arm.

"I'm glad you're back," Rick said, and Carol was struck by how broken he sounded, "We need you."

Once the entire Kingdom army was within the walls and settling down for dinner, Carol found herself alone with Rick, Michonne, Morgan and Jesus. She sat silently as Rick told her about what had happened in the clearing on that night, Michonne clutching his hand tightly the entire time. When Rick explained how Daryl's outburst had led to Glenn's death, she felt her heart contract painfully in her chest. She knew Daryl, maybe better than anyone else, and she knew just how much that thought would torture him, probably for the rest of his life. He blamed himself for so much already, no wonder he had seemed so _broken_ when he'd found her at the house.

When they further told her how Daryl had been treated under Negan's capture, she felt a fire rekindling in her gut; that protective, angry blaze was getting ever brighter and hotter, and with every passing minute she felt her fear of killing becoming more and more distant. She didn't know if she would come out at the end of the night alive, but hell, she'd go down fighting for her people. For Glenn, and Abraham. For Daryl.

She was relieved to know that Daryl wouldn't be going to fight tonight; his injured shoulder would only impede him, and it was vital that Negan believed him to be dead if their man on the inside, Dwight, was to succeed in his part of the plan. But at the realisation that if things went south tonight and she didn't make it out alive, she would never have had the chance to say goodbye. That thought hurt more than she cared to acknowledge at that moment, and she forced it down to worry about later; right now, her focus needed to remain on the task ahead. Because if she got the chance, she _would_ kill Negan, and she'd have to do so without a moment's doubt.

* * *

The journey to the Sanctuary seemed to take forever, and no time at all. Kingdom soldiers travelled by horse, while those from Alexandria and the Hilltop filed into the small trucks they had at their disposal. Their numbers weren't great; there were fifty-seven in all, with only thirty-eight travelling to the Sanctuary that night, the others staying back to protect Alexandria should an ambush occur unexpectedly.

The darkness and relative silence, but for the engines purring and the horses' hooves clattering on the asphalt, warped Carol's perception of time. Before she knew it, they were stood at the gates of the Sanctuary, face-to-face with chain-link fencing and a wall of the undead. And a man, who Carol could only assume was Negan, stood in the courtyard behind the fence, barbed-wire baseball bat in hand and backed up by his men.

"Well, well, well, you've gotta be _shittin'_ me!" Negan called to them, and Carol was immediately repulsed by the arrogance in his tone as he swung that bat around.

"Enough is enough," Rick called back, "This is it. It stops. Now."

Negan chuckled, and the sound made her skin crawl.

"I see you've grown a pair, Rick. I must congratulate you on that. It's a shame they're gonna get you, and all your friends, killed," Negan smirked.

"We will no longer be providing for you. Not us, not the Hilltop, not the Kingdom. We are here to offer you a truce. Or to kill you. Your choice," Rick answered, seemingly undeterred, although Carol noticed a nervous twitch in his left hand.

"Wow, you people just do not learn."

Without warning, the sound of gunfire startled the horses, as two men she recognised from the Kingdom fell from their saddles, blood spouting from the fresh bullet-holes in their skulls.

"Snipers! Take cover!" Rick shouted.

The gunshots increased in intensity as they scrambled for cover. Carol jumped from her horse, crouching low as she hurried her way between covered areas. Others in their group began to shoot back using the few guns they'd managed to scavenge and keep hidden from Negan, and the bullets Eugene had been making in secret.

She came across a woman who couldn't have been more than twenty, crouched down with her hands over her ears, holding a rifle against her chest. Her eyes were wide and terrified, but Carol couldn't find it in herself to sympathise at that moment. She snatched the rifle from the younger woman, trying to shout above the gunfire to tell her to get back into one of the trucks. Carol didn't pay her enough further attention to find out if she'd followed the instruction, as she crouched down beside a tree, and began to fire back at the Sanctuary.

Most of Negan's men had also taken cover, but she managed to take out a few of them, before she heard shouting from behind her.

She turned in time to see two younger men, both from Rick's makeshift army, running towards the trucks. And then she realised why.

Heading straight for them, was the biggest herd she'd seen in a long time. They stumbled through the trees, the stench of death getting ahead of them, as it always did.

There was more shouting and more gunfire as the group converged on the vehicles. Carol jumped up and joined them, ushering people into the biggest truck. When it seemed like most of their group were on board, she spotted Rick as he darted behind one of the cars closest to the Sanctuary fence.

"Go!" she called to the driver once the last person was on board, before she took off in the direction Rick had taken.

Maybe it was all the time she'd spent under Rick's leadership, but she could always tell when he was about to do something reckless. She knew, because he'd clearly had the same idea she did; if they could knock that fence down with a car, the walkers would get into the Sanctuary. No more Negan.

She was proven right, when she found him climbing into the driver's seat.

"What are you doing?" she shouted to him, and he stopped, turning to face her.

"You know what I'm doing," he answered stoically, before turning back to climb into the car.

She grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back.

"Stop! Even if you survive this, he'll kill you."

"He won't," Rick said emphatically, "It's all a game to him. He wants me alive."

Carol considered that, and knew that Rick was probably right. But knowing what Negan had done to Glenn and Abraham, and what he'd done to Daryl, she couldn't just let him drive into that place. He had children, people who loved him. He needed to live.

"I'm sorry," she said gently.

He frowned at her in confusion for just a minute, before his face crumpled in agony, as she grabbed his shoulders and rammed her knee into his groin. He buckled, and she yanked him away from the car, before climbing in herself.

She turned the key in the ignition, and the car roared to life. She spared one more glance at Rick, where he was curled up on the floor, his eyes begging her to stop. And then she floored the gas pedal, and the car bolted forward. The last thing she felt was the impact as the car busted through the fence, slamming her head forwards into the steering wheel, and sending everything into a somehow loud, somehow silent blackness.

* * *

It had been three days since the three communities had converged on the Sanctuary, and Daryl had heard _nothing_. He desperately wanted to go back to Alexandria, but Maggie's constant reminders that his being detected by Negan could result in _all_ their deaths, kept him where he was. Scouts that had headed for the Sanctuary the day following the attack had reported the fences being down, the whole place swarmed by the dead, with very few bodies on the allies' side. But then, why had they heard nothing, if the attack was a success?

He was about ready to leave, hiding be damned, when the trucks from Alexandria rolled up. But his relief was short-lived, when he saw the reactions of those who climbed out from them.

"Alexandria fell," Rick explained, his voice broken, when they'd brought everyone inside and they sat in the living room of the manor house, "Negan and his men survived the attack. They came to Alexandria. They used grenades."

"Oh my god," Maggie said, her hands coming up to cover her mouth.

"We lost a lot of people," Michonne said sadly.

Daryl found himself thanking the god he wasn't sure even existed, that at least Carol was safe. He knew, then, that he'd made the right decision keeping all this from her. He wasn't sure what he'd do if he lost her now.

"Daryl, you need to know something," Rick said, his voice interrupting Daryl's train of thought.

"Hmm?" he grunted in question.

"It's Carol," Rick started, and Daryl felt the blood drain from his face.

"What about her?" he asked, frowning deeply, "She's back at the Kingdom, I saw her a few days ago."

"No, she was part of the attack on the Sanctuary," Rick answered carefully, and Daryl was suddenly struck by the urge to punch him.

"No, she…" he started, but when his eyes shifted to Michonne questioningly, she just shook her head.

"Ezekiel told her everything. She wanted to fight," Michonne told him gently.

"Well, where is she?" he asked, desperately trying to keep the panic out of his voice, but becoming ever more agitated.

He watched as Rick looked sideways at Michonne, and felt his temper building.

"Where the fuck is she, Rick?" he growled.

"When the walkers surrounded the Sanctuary, we knew we had to bust the fences to let them in. I was gonna do it, I was, but she…" he tailed off, and Daryl felt his fists clenching.

"She what?" he was practically shouting now.

"She drove a car through the fence. She was surrounded by walkers, I couldn't…I had to…" Rick explained.

Daryl was on his feet in an instant, pacing angrily. This couldn't be happening. It just couldn't. She'd been safe, he'd made sure of it. She was supposed to be in that house while this shit went on. He'd just _known_ that she'd do something like this if she was involved. Damn it, Carol, proving him right.

He couldn't comprehend it. His unbound hand came up to his face, as he pressed the heel of his palm into his eye socket, desperately fighting the pressure, the anger and the hatred and the pain that was bubbling up in his brain.

"I'm so sorry, man," Rick said brokenly, as he stood up and rested a hand on Daryl's shoulder.

Daryl shrugged him off violently.

"She dead?" Daryl asked, sensing he knew the answer.

"I don't know for sure, but…" Rick began to answer.

"Then I'm going to find her," Daryl interrupted resolutely, already making for the door.

"Daryl, wait," Michonne urged, and he stopped, his back to them still as he waited.

"Daryl, the car was surrounded by walkers. And she hit the fence pretty hard…" Rick said carefully.

Daryl stood still for a moment. He'd known Rick long enough to know when he was skirting around something. And he knew that this time, that _something,_ was that Carol was dead. Rick knew it. Michonne knew it. They all did.

Without turning back to face them, he started for the door, not knowing where he was going, but just that he needed to get out of that room, and the weight of the unsaid words hanging within it.


End file.
